


Close Encounters of the K9

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Swearing, UKUS, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-10-24 22:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17712458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Tony the..."dog" has successfully saved his owner from perverts, weirdos, and a variety of other ne'er-do-wells. He's never met a man he couldn't get rid of. But then, he's never met Arthur Kirkland.





	1. We Come in Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Some brief and minor angst in this chapter.

As far as Tony was concerned, humans were, on the whole, totally fucking irredeemable.

But Tony knows only a Sith deals in absolutes, so he’s content with finding exceptions now and then. One exception—the number one exception, really—found him first.

He’d been half-dead, freezing in the late November cold. The blind old man who had been feeding him scraps never came to the door anymore, no matter how much Tony scratched and whined. And cursed.

He wasn’t called Tony then, had never had any name given to him that wasn’t something like “damn ugly mutt” or “godforsaken abomination.” He was still new to this world, yet he knew for sure that it _completely fucking sucked._ He’d never known the warmth of human kindness; the old man had been kind enough to spare him some rubbish, but he was gone now. And the ugly mutt was alone.

He’d left the safety of the alley, stepping away from the protection of the buildings to be hammered by a brisk autumn wind. Head down, he slinked along, trying to remain unseen. He could try the café dumpster, or hide in the park and wait for the arthritic hot dog cart owner to drop something.

His bones ached, his patchy fur doing little to protect him from the biting cold. He had no strength to hold back a loud, high-pitched sneeze—

“What the fuck—what is _that?_ ”

Goddammit.

Mustering up the last of his energy, he bolted, trying to get away from the voice (it sounded young, and the young ones here were especially cruel), desperately jumping in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, the opposite direction was a busy street.

The burst of sound and blast of light seemed strangely familiar somehow.

 

* * *

 

 

He was warm. When he woke up, he was warm. Warm, and cradled in something soft. That is what he noticed first—not the ache of his healing body, or the excited murmurs of the small crowd around him.

“Al, I mean—Jesus, I don’t know. I think it was already…like that.”

Something was touching him. A rhythmic motion to the top of his head. He forced his eyes open, turning his head to get a look—it was a hand, broad and tan, the fingertips stroking his mottled skin. He followed the hand to the arm, and up to the face of a young man. He was frowning hard, and something shiny was stuck to the corner of his eyes, which were pointed away from him.

“Stop taking pictures! What the hell is wrong with you? It’s an injured dog!”

The murmurs increased in volume and the young man turned toward him. He jolted, and his mouth stretched open wide to reveal white, glittering teeth. _Oh fuck_. _He’s going to eat me._

“Hey it—it’s alive! It’s alive. That’s weird, I could’ve sworn there was no heartbeat—whatever. Gil, get my keys. You drive. We gotta get it to the vet—don’t look at me like that.”

He was lifted up then, totally helpless. But he was still warm. And the hand was still stroking him. He struggled a bit, and the human cooed at him, holding him closer. Well, what the hell. There were worst things than being eaten, he guessed. As the humans argued with each other, he fell asleep once more.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke, it was just the one human. He would learn, with time, this human was Alfred— _his_ Alfred. He would learn he had a name of his own now, and that Alfred hadn’t ever planned to eat him. He’d saved him.

He learned, also, that the night they met, he'd taken care of the first of many problems without even trying. Just by virtue of existing, he’d managed to get rid of _Gil_.

“No one’s gonna get between my Tony and I! Who’s a good boy? Who’s my best friend? You are! No one’s gonna call you a ‘disgrace to canines everywhere’ are they?” Alfred spoke with a sharp, confident voice, but the third tub of birthday cake ice cream told a story so universal, even Tony understood. 

“Who’s my one-and-only? Who’s my man?”

_That’s right_. Tony flicked away a tear with a forked tongue. _I’m your man._


	2. Soleil Vert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is France/America, with some brief/mild naughtiness.

It didn’t take long for Tony to thoroughly entrench himself in Alfred’s life. He endured his weekly baths, including the plethora of new soaps which never managed to get his unique odor under control. He protected their home when Alfred left for work, cleaning up and keeping house, acting dutifully perplexed as Alfred performed the mental gymnastics necessary to explain away a tightened table leg or a freshly oiled hinge.

He even bore the burden of his UFO-patterned collar and leash, allowing Alfred to parade him around, oblivious to the wide berth anyone with working eyes gave them. It was better when the park emptied out anyway—there was more room to play, and no one around to see when Tony leapt a little _too_ high to catch a frisbee.

Though he still found humans to be, overall, a waste of perfectly good carbon, he met a few more exceptions to the rule. Toris, Alfred’s neighbor, occasionally came over for dinner and looked after Tony on the rare occasions Alfred had to travel. He was quiet and kind, adored Alfred, and gave good belly rubs. If Tony ever destroyed the Earth, he’d definitely save Toris.

Matthew, Alfred’s brother, wasn’t too bad either. Usually Tony forgot he was even visiting, though he wasn’t too fond of Matthew’s “dog,” who was definitely a fucking _bear_.

He held no fondness for humanity beyond these three, but unfortunately, his owner did not share his aversion. Tony accepted that his owner was a superior human, strong and charming, and naturally inclined to draw others to him. What he could not fathom was his owner’s taste in _mates_.

Just a few months after Tony came to live with him, Alfred brought home his new _boyfriend_ , a flashy looking blond who took one look at Tony and physically recoiled.

Alfred hadn’t noticed—or had pretended not to notice. He flopped down on the carpet and hugged Tony around the middle, snorting with laughter as he nuzzled his face.

“This is my Tony! He’s still lookin’ a little rough, got hit by a car. They just drove off and left him to die, didn’t even check on him, and he wasn’t even hurt that bad!” Alfred pouted, gazing up at his new beau, whose eyes softened as he gave him a hesitant smile.

“Well, isn’t he lucky to have found his hero.” The man said with a wink. Alfred flushed, and Tony knew trouble was coming.

That night, Tony watched in horror as Alfred closed the bedroom door with an apologetic smile. He didn’t open it again, not even when he whined and snuffed and scratched. Defeated, Tony checked the locks and made sure the stove was off before curling up in his neglected dog bed.

He was woken up by the blond man— _Francy? Francine?_ —whistling merrily as he made eggs unnecessarily complicated. He got up, ready to check on Alfred, when the whistling stopped.

“Oh? Good morning to you, my mangy friend. Do you want some sausage?”

Tony eyed the other warily, noting the hard edge to his smile. The man offered him half a sausage link, arm extended as far as he could reach, his fingers barely touching the food. A peace offering.

Oh, how easy it would be to unhinge his jaw, swing his mouth open like a trapdoor, and take off that hand with the inch-long fangs he definitely didn’t have hiding in his purple gums. But he was a good dog, so he snatched the sausage with only the barest hint of teeth.

The man squawked fearfully for a moment, but collected himself with another shaky smile before turning back to the food. Tony had to admit, the sausage _had_ been tasty.

This continued for another month or so. Every weekend, Francis would either take Alfred out or cook for him in the apartment. Then, inevitably, Tony lost his spot in the bed and suffered through the creak of the box spring. He didn’t like it, but his owner was happy, and Tony respected a mate who could provide.

But he’d been blinded. Drugged, perhaps, with the scraps of meat Francis slipped him every now and then. He hadn’t respected how dangerous a creature this Francis—this _pervert_ was.

It had been a pleasant Friday evening—the weather was warming, and Tony was basking in a rapidly disappearing sunspot watching _Treehouse Masters_ when Alfred and Francis stumbled in, shucking their coats and giggling.

They headed for the bedroom, ignoring Tony completely ( _fucking bastards_ ) and forgetting to close the door.

His nature was just too curious—he wasn’t entirely sure what they did in there, though he thought he had some idea.

Well, he’d been wrong.

They were in front of the full-length mirror on Alfred’s closet door. Alfred had lost his shirt, though the pervert was still fully dressed. They were kissing, Francis’ hand on Alfred’s chin, tilting his head back.

God, humans were fucking gross. Still, Tony trusted his owner was in control, so he turned to leave when he heard a gasp and a whine.

The pervert was staring at Alfred in the mirror and…squeezing him. He had his hands on the other’s middle, which was a lot…softer than Tony had noticed. Oh fuck, he was fattening him up, he was going to eat him—

“Look at you, you sexy thing.” He was tasting him even now, taking big bites out of his neck! “Don’t you look _juste parfait_.”

Parfait?! He wasn’t a parfait! Tony rushed to the linen closet, fumbling with the knob and shoving a box out of the way to reach the hole where he kept his things. Horrified, he realized he couldn’t fit through the hole—he was fattening Tony up too—getting him out of the way so he could…could have his way with his owner and _eat him when he was done!_

Well, it wasn’t fucking happening, bub. Tony scrambled into the kitchen and grabbed the broom with his mouth. Running full force into the bedroom, he angled the broom just so—and smashed the blond cannibal right in the head.

 

* * *

 

 

His ungrateful, naïve, _mind-controlled, weakened, threatened_ owner exiled him—stupid, stupid—to the balcony as he tended to his wailing boyfriend. Francis didn’t stay the night.

But it wasn’t over.

One week later, he was back, Alfred assuring him Tony would never have done it on purpose. He’d just been trying to play, he was sure.

Tony would have to take a more nuanced approach, or even Alfred would be unable to explain away his behavior.

This time, he coated the kitchen floor in olive oil. When Francis got up to cook breakfast, he performed an impressive split. _Just try to lay your eggs in Alfred now, pervert!_

But Francis was tenacious. Tony was almost impressed. He returned again and again, even after Tony swallowed his car keys, stole the toilet paper while he was in the bathroom, and pissed on his Givenchy shoes.

Tony worried he’d have to resort to something heinous, but he didn’t want to disappoint Alfred, who remained certain Tony was just a mischievous boy.

“He must like you! He never pays this much attention to anyone.” Alfred said with a smile, rounded cheeks glowing.

Francis twitched. “My, my. How lucky I am.”

They had reached an impasse. Tony kept a sharp eye on the pervert, alert. Francis avoided him with all his might, sticking to Alfred like glue.

Until one Sunday morning, Francis let his guard down and stepped into the shower—alone.

Alfred never knew what caused his boyfriend to run screeching from his apartment, totally naked (save for a barely visible coating of rapidly evaporating glowing goo). He couldn’t understand the French he babbled at him as he desperately fled, gesturing wildly at Tony, who sat unfazed in his bed, the picture of innocence.

“Well, geez.” Alfred huffed, tears already poking out of the corners of his eyes. “I knew he didn’t like ya, but that’s a bit much, huh?” He dropped forlornly onto the couch, and Tony immediately curled himself around him.

If Tony had a heart, it was definitely broken. But his Alfred was safe. _One day_ , he thought, chasing his nonexistent tail, trying to get Alfred to smile. _One day, we’ll find a carbon-based, bipedal lifeform who is worthy._


	3. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: brief, non-descriptive russia/america. very brief. much non-descriptive. wow.

The next several months were blissfully boyfriend-free, as Alfred was too focused on his new job to bother with any lesser males. His efforts paid off with a big promotion, which meant leaving behind their drafty, dilapidated apartment building in favor of a cozy, modern town home.

Tony was sure he was going to fucking _hate_ it.

“Come on, bud. Don’t be like that.” Alfred huffed at him, pulling off his baseball cap to run a hand through his sweaty blond hair. “I know this was home, but I promise, you’re gonna love the new place.”

Tony just stared at him impassively with unblinking eyes from his spot in the closet. Underneath him was the empty hole which had housed his tools—the tools Alfred had cluelessly tossed in the donation pile days ago. _“The last guy to live here must have been into cosplay or something—that’s some weird stuff!”_

The donation pile was gone—everything was gone, packed up in the truck or already hauled away to the new place. All that was left was the two of them, a broom and dustpan, and the keys Alfred was slowly swinging around his finger.

He slapped them into his palm with a sigh, crouching down and opening his arms to the other.

“I know this is scary boy. It’s scary for me too! But that’s why I gotta have you with me.” He smiled, a hint of sadness in his voice as he carried on, “I promise, we’re gonna be happy in the new place. ‘Cause we’ll be together! And that’s where home is, yeah? Wherever we’re together.”

Tony thought about where his “home” was. His mind reeled with images of a dusty, far-off place he wasn’t sure he remembered, of a long, uncertain journey to nowhere. He stood slowly and trotted forward to nuzzle the other’s cheek. Alfred laughed happily, swooping him up and carting him off to places unknown.

To their new home.

 

 

* * *

 

Tony had worried for naught. Their new home had it all—

“…and there’s a pool out front, and a gym and a lounge, and we’ve got our own washer and dryer, plus _two_ bathrooms, and of course…”

He threw open a door, a door Tony had sensed housed a subterranean level, or as Alfred called it—

“A basement! How cool is that?”

Tony bolted down the stairs, ignoring Alfred’s halfhearted yelling. He yanked on the light cord from the ceiling and surveyed the area.

Exposed pipes, a half-carpeted floor, a cabinet with no doors, a shower head, a large closet, a short bench attached to the brick wall—it was _fucking perfect._  

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, a new home and new job meant new suitors. There was always a downside.

The first new beau took care of himself without any intervention on Tony’s part. He was spared the details, thankfully, but Alfred’s dark mutterings about “inappropriate use of tomato-based products” told him more than he ever wanted to know.

The next of his owner’s boyfriends had actually seemed promising. He was huge, quiet, and seemed to have at least double the brain cells of Alfred’s past pursuits. Tony had almost liked him.

Plus, the man had found Tony totally unremarkable.

Well, Ivan had definitely cringed when he first saw him, but he’d recovered well. _“It is good to have a companion. Many dogs in Russia look worse than him, dorogoi.”_

But Tony eventually realized he was hiding something sinister. Who needed their neck to be warm at all times?

Reptiles. That’s who.                                                                                                                                                  

The pale skin and odd-colored eyes weren’t evidence enough. So, he’d monitored the situation closely, just to be sure. His confirmation came one night when he was scurrying past the darkened bedroom to fetch a late-night snack and overheard a rough voice state: “ _Become one with me, solnishko.”_

Tony knew he had to get rid of the reptilian threat, but the intimidating creature was too dangerous to fight, and too cold and calculating to psychologically manipulate.

With his new, tricked out workshop, however, Tony was able to put together a computing device which gave him the answers he needed. The reptile had done a good job of crafting an identity on this planet, and Tony soon found out all there was to know about “Ivan,” including the location and contact information for his dangerous, possessive hatchmate.

He’d had a _terrible_ time learning how to write, but after intercepting some helpful transmissions and watching many hours of a television show called _Friends_ (for purely informational purposes, of course) _,_ he’d managed to put together a convincingly human-sounding letter.

A mere three days later, the front door burst open, and a sharp-faced, knife-wielding woman was soon dragging a distraught Ivan out of the house. Tony dove forward to trap Alfred beneath him, growling menacingly at the woman and preventing his owner from intervening.

In the ensuing silence, Alfred struggled into a sitting position and blew his bangs out of his eyes. “I fucking _knew it._ ”

_Uh oh. What has he figured out?_

“Steady job, totally devoted, super hot, so like, of course he’s got a fucking wife or girlfriend or some shit! Honestly.” Alfred hopped into the floor to pull out his favorite post-break-up DVD, _Megamind_. “Tony, I’m swearing off men.”

 _No, don’t swear off men._ Tony tried to whimper sympathetically, but it came out more like an industrial whirr. _Find yourself a “man” who actually is one!_

 

* * *

 

 

It was six months later, on a Tuesday, around 6 PM when Tony learned his owner’s resolve had crumbled. He heard the newcomer before he saw him, a lilting, accented voice with a teasing tone that made Alfred chirrup giddily as he fumbled his key into the lock.

“So, this is my place.”

“It’s charming love. And a mite cleaner than I expected.”

Tony tried to shuffle quietly from the couch to beneath the coffee table, but bumped his back against the wood loudly. He narrowed his empty black eyes at their guest.

“Oh, pumpkin, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of!” Alfred reached beneath the table to grab his hind legs, dragging him out as Tony left wide, deep gashes in the floor. “You’re not usually like this, did we startle you?”

 _No._ He thought. _I’m just not ready to go through this fucking shit again._

Alfred plopped Tony down on the couch cushions and returned to the stranger’s side, all smiles. The stranger leaned into his arm and gazed down at Tony.

Tony gazed back.

The stranger’s smile grew tighter. He looked Tony up and down. He let Alfred take off his coat.

Tony glared, lifting the corner of his mouth to show purple gums and a fang.

The stranger’s eyebrows lifted. Alfred was saying something. Rambling. Telling the story of how he’d found Tony, about how he was “one-of-a-kind” and the vet had “never seen anything like him.”

_No shit._

As Alfred turned away from the coat hooks, the stranger gave him a smirk. “That’s all well and good, but were not properly introduced.”

Alfred grinned. “How _utterly rude_ of me.”

_Why does everything they say sound like a fucking inside joke I’m not in on? How long has this been going on?_

“Arthur, this is Tony.”

Tony did not growl. He was a good boy. He did not.

“And Tony, this is Arthur!”

What happened next was the biggest fucking power move Tony had ever seen, and he would never forget it until his dying day, which he hoped wasn’t coming up sooner than expected.

Arthur, who looked like he’d walked out of a book about librarian stereotypes, who smelled like a mix of flowers and spicy curry, who had eyebrows so huge they were _definitely_ hiding something—

Arthur, who was thin, pale, slender-handed and wearing a _sweater vest—_

Arthur, who had just fucking waltzed in, sized him up, and barely batted a fucking long, effeminate eyelash—

Reached out and fucking _pet him._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flips table* this took way, way, way too long. I'm sorry. I rewrote this chapter over and over and scrapped everything to get here. I'm happy about where it landed, but please let me know what you think, if, er, you're still reading.  
> OTL love y'all.


End file.
